


Alive, Maybe

by FlyUsOutOfHere



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner RPF, The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Canon Disabled Character, Mental Health Issues, Newt (Maze Runner) Lives, Newt (Maze Runner)-centric, Safe Haven, Safe Haven (Maze Runner), The Last City (Maze Runner), im not really sure where I'm going with this so I'll add more tags as I go, mainly newt p.o.v. but i'll definetly add a couple chapters from thomas' and minho's p.o.v., maybe eventual newt/thomas?, nothing graphic though, probably unrealistic medical stuff, teresa is dead and i hate her so thomas is gonna be over it, there will be fluff later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:27:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27634769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlyUsOutOfHere/pseuds/FlyUsOutOfHere
Summary: Newt doesn't know what to do when he wakes up in the Last City, somehow alive and not a Crank. He doesn't know where Thomas and the others are, or if they're even alive. But he's going to get back to them, no matter the cost.bad summary but pretty much Newt lives and just wants to find his friends.
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> lets pretend that maybe Newt died for a minute there and the Flare went away, or something. Just pretend that Newt is not infected anymore, I don't really have any logic behind it.

He felt like he was dying, or like he was already dead. Everything hurt; the usual throbbing from his bad leg, and every breath he took made his lungs feel like they were on fire. His head hurt, and he was slightly aware of the blood steadily dripping into his eyes. His eyes were still closed, or at least he thinks they are, because all he sees is darkness. He concentrates for a moment, willing his body to please work for just one second so he can open his eyes and see where the hell he is. It works, evidently, because now everything is bright and Newt’s head feels heavy and empty but also full at the same time and now there’s a dull ringing in his ears. _This is bloody great_ , Newt thinks, or maybe he says it, he’s not sure. For a moment, he thinks maybe, just maybe, he’s back in the Scorch. Maybe he got struck by lightning instead of Minho. That would explain the full body ache. But no, because now he remembers. The Last City. Finding Minho, Tommy staring at him. Tommy talking to him, maybe, and Newt remembers the feel of the cold metal handle of the pistol in his hand, and the cold metal pistol against his head, and the knife, and...and...that’s all he remembers. He’s really not sure, and all Newt knows is he wants the ringing to shut up and he wants the brightness to please, please, please go away. So he closes his eyes again, and the darkness replaces the light and the ringing goes away and maybe he’s at peace, even if it’s just for a moment.

The next time he wakes up, he’s not as disorientated. Yeah, he still has no idea where the hell he is or why he’s there or what happened to get him there, but he’s aware of who he is and that he does in fact exist. He slowly sits up, ignoring the flashes of pain as best as he can. Just doing that winds him, and he’s gasping for breath. He looks around and is shocked or maybe scared at what he sees. It’s bright, so Newt assumes that it’s daytime, probably mid-afternoon. He’s surrounded by buildings, except they’re not really buildings at all anymore. Most of them are crumbling away, while some have been completely destroyed. There’s still a few fires going, and Newt sees a few bodies. None quiet near him, but they are definitely there, and Newt definitely sees them, and he does not want to see them. He looks down at himself, trying to assess just how wounded he really is. His leg, the bad one, looks a bit mangled and twisted but nothing out of the ordinary. He’s shocked to see a knife, a whole knife, protruding out of his chest. _That’s why I bloody can’t breathe_ , Newt thinks to himself. He was never a very good doctor; back in the Glade, he’d been injured a lot, but he’d always depended on Nick or Jeff or one of the other Med-Jacks to fix him up. Back in the Scorch, and with the Right Arm ( _“How did I forget the Right Arm? I’d been with them for months, right? Right?”_ ) he’d had Thomas, and Frypan, and Brenda, and Jorge and Vince and countless others. But right here, right now, Newt has himself and a couple dozen dead bodies.

Newt sighs, as much as he can when there’s a blade in his chest. He knows, just from life experience, that if he takes the knife out and doesn’t do anything else to the wound, he’ll likely bleed out. So he digs deep into the pockets of his pants, searching for anything that might help him. He finds another knife, probably his spare, and a couple bandanas. Without really thinking about the consequences, he pulls the knife out of his chest, and almost screams out in pain. He holds his scream in and gasps for breath, tears spilling down his face. As quickly as he can, he wraps the bandanas around his wound, pulling them as tight as he can stand. He leans back, hitting what’s probably the remains of some building or car or statue, and takes a deep breath. Yeah, he’s breathing, but it still hurts. Everything hurts. Newt takes a few moments to regain his energy, and slowly but surely stands up, holding on to a large piece of rubble for support.

“Shuck,” he gasps out, as his vision goes white for a moment and his brain is suddenly filled with a loud static. He’s shaking, and his leg hurts, maybe more than the knife did, but hey, he’s standing, and that’s definitely progress. He looks up, appreciating (but also not) the newfound view he has from the added height. The collapsed buildings, the bodies, the rubble, it goes on for what seems like miles. Newt knows that’s unrealistic. The Last City isn’t that big. But he’s honestly not even sure if that’s where he is. He remembers now, being a Crank. The knife, Tommy. He hopes Tommy’s okay. He has to be okay, right?

His legs are shaking even more now, and his grip on the rubble is slipping. He slowly sits back down and tries to find the exhaustion passing over his body, but he can’t. His eyes slip close, and his last conscious thought is _“What the bloody hell am I gonna do?”_


	2. Chapter 2

It had been a week, maybe, since Newt had woken up in the Last City with nothing but memories and a couple old knives. He wasn’t positive what day it was, since he didn’t have a watch or anything else to tell the time, besides the consistent rising of the sun. He was used to it, though. Back in the Glade, he’d had to look to the sky to know what time it was. Newt had been walking...actually, more like half limping and half stumbling, through the city. He’d come across a few Cranks, but he’d gotten rid of them with a quick stab to the face. He felt bad, of course. He was a Crank? Almost a Crank? He didn’t know exactly what he was, but he knew that those Cranks were once real people with real lives, and the guilt was slowly eating away at him. Every day since waking up, Newt recovered a few more memories. He remembered that he and Thomas and the others had been going somewhere, that they’d had a plan to leave this damned place once they rescued Minho. Obviously, that didn’t work out for Newt, but he hoped more than anything that the others were safe, that they’d gotten where they needed to go. Newt thought that their goal had been a boat, and he remembered camping out on a beach near that boat, so Newt was trying his hardest to find that boat. He knew it was unlikely; there’s probably a lot of bodies of water around, and there’s probably a lot of boats, too. Still, Newt was just glad to have something to look for. He’d found some food and water in some barely still standing stores, and he’d snatched a backpack off of a body.

Newt still didn’t feel right, though. His head was still heavy, and the extra weight off the loaded up backpack definitely didn’t help. He was scared that maybe he is a Crank, maybe he has been the whole time. It’s not like there was anybody around to confirm otherwise. He still walked, though. Every day, all day, until the sun went down and it became too dark to go on. Then, he would just lay down on the ground, usually leaning up against something or other, and fall into a fitful sleep, until the sun rose again, and then he’d go back to walking.

He was in a daze. The food he ate had no taste, and it was like nothing could quench his thirst. Sometimes, he’d only realize he was crying when he felt the hot tears run down his face. Newt wasn’t at all shocked, though. This had happened once before, in the days leading up to his infamous jump off the Maze walls. Now, though, Newt would give anything to be trapped behind those walls again. At least there, he had his friends. He’d had Minho, Frypan, Alby ( _Oh God Alby_ ) and for a little while, he’d had Thomas. Maybe it was childish, maybe it was selfish, but Newt wished he could go back to living in a naive, sheltered world, his biggest fear being the Grievers behind the walls. If only he’d known how bad things can really get behind the walls.

He’d been walking for nine days when he finally got out of the City. Now, it was easier to walk. To think, to breathe. The grass was soft against his face at night, and he could even hear crickets? Maybe crickets, maybe not, Newt didn’t know, but it was still comforting, knowing that maybe he wasn’t the last thing alive. After another week of walking, the grass had slowly turned to rock, and then to sand. Newt definitely preferred the grass to the sand; the sand would get stuck in all the wrong places and it would itch his face at night.

He had almost considered going back, not to the City, but back to the grass. The grass and the crickets were much more comforting. But Newt didn’t have the energy to do anything but keep walking forward. He had run out of food a couple days before, and he only had two bottles of lukewarm, dusty water left. He knew he should scavenge for nuts and berries, or maybe even try to hunt an actual animal, but he didn’t have the strength for it. He was in a constant state of passiveness.

On Day Twenty, four days after he ran out of food, he saw the water. Or, more like, felt the water as the gentle waves soaked through his shoes. He’d glanced up, wincing at the light reflecting off of the water, and gasped. It was a lake, maybe, or an ocean. Newt didn’t care. All he cared about then was that there was water in front of him, and Newt was incredibly thirsty. He dropped down to his knees, almost falling, and cupped his hands into the water and just drank. He drank until the thought of water made him want to throw up.

Oh God, was he tired.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if it wasn't clear before, Newt's thoughts are in italics.   
> first part is in thomas' p.o.v. , second is in newt's p.o.v.

It was fine. Great, even. But Thomas just wished Newt were here. If he were, everything would be so much better. Everything would be perfect if Newt could just be here, be alive.

Minho understood. After Thomas had finally woken up, Minho had given him Newt’s necklace, and they had quietly cried together, mourning over one of the most loyal, brave people they had ever known. Now, Thomas made sure to always wear Newt’s necklace, and to always at least glance at Newt’s name carved into the rock. Thomas would never forgive himself if he somehow forgot about him.

The Safe Haven was amazing, though. Even Thomas had to admit that. They didn’t exactly have houses, but they had huts and tents and Gally had even built a couple wooden structures that they used for the medical center and the kitchen. They didn’t have to worry about Cranks, or WICKD, or anything else besides keeping their little civilization alive. Still, Thomas couldn’t help but think that Newt deserved this more than he did.

“Hey, Tom, breakfast is ready, if you’re hungry,” Brenda said, her voice light and cheerful but still a little concerned for her friend.

“Yeah, sure, let’s go,” Thomas said, sending Brenda a quick smile. They walked together, towards the eating area. Some people thought they were a couple, but they’d laughed at the idea. Yes, they loved each other, maybe, but only in a friendly way. Thomas ate alongside Minho and Brenda, talking to them but not really in the conversation. God, he missed Newt. It was kind of funny, Thomas thought to himself, that he had always had Newt by his side from the very beginning, and now he has Gally of all people on his side, and no Newt.

After he’d read Newt’s letter, he didn’t even know how to react. He couldn’t stop remembering the pleading look in Newt’s eyes as he begged Thomas to kill him. Thomas couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that he had no idea who killed Newt. He didn’t know if he’d stabbed his best friend, or if his best friend had stabbed himself. Thomas hated thinking about either scenario. At this point, Thomas hated thinking.

Now that they weren’t in the Maze, Thomas couldn’t be a Runner. Still, he helped out by mapping the area. It wasn’t an island, exactly. It was still connected to the mainland, technically, but it was so far away from the City that it was almost like the Safe Haven was their own little country. Every day, Thomas would go out and walk the perimeter, sometimes going out into the wooded areas to see if there are any plants or herbs or other useful materials. Sometimes, Minho would join him. It wasn’t as exciting as running the Maze, but it was definitely less stressful. It gave Thomas a lot of time to be alone with his thoughts, which was equally a blessing and a curse. Sometimes, when he’d walk around, he’d see a little bug or a frog or some other miniscule thing, and be reminded of Newt. Everything reminded him of Newt.

“Hey, shuckface, are you even listening?” Minho asked, gently bumping his shoulder against Thomas’.

“To you? Never,” Thomas responded sarcastically, causing Brenda to crack up and Minho to playfully glare at him. Thomas just laughed at his friend, trying to push down the guilt rising up from his stomach, trying to push down the little voice in his head saying “Newt should be the one making them laugh. He should be the one sitting here.”

* * *

When Newt finally woke up, he wasn’t sure if he had even fallen asleep in the first place. He was still so tired. And thirsty, but most importantly, he was starving. He wiped the sleep out of his eyes and it was like the fog in his brain suddenly cleared. He cleared his throat, wincing as the action scratched at his incredibly sore throat.

“My name is Newt,” he said, his voice raspy from misuse. “I’m fine. I’m here. I’m alive.” With that, he picked himself off the ground, noticing that he had completely bled through the bandana tied around his stab wound. _It’s probably been like that for a while,_ Newt thought to himself. He decided to leave it be. He’s already half-dead, how much worse can he get?

He drank some more of the water before finally taking in his surroundings. To his left, was the body of water ( _an ocean maybe?_ ) with a sandy shore, and to his right there were trees and large rocks. He ran a hand through his curls, his fingers getting tangled up in it. He walked towards a bush, plucking some berries off of it, and shoving them in his mouth. He didn’t think they were poisonous, but he was too hungry to care. He picked his way through a few bushes, eating every berry he could stomach, and then shoving the remains in his pocket. With food finally in his system, his head got even more clear. The static subsided, and he felt a little more steady on his feet.

He kept walking, wincing as pain shot through his leg. _Tommy and the others should be around here, right? Boat means water, and there’s water right here._ Newt thought to himself, before groaning at his own stupidity. _There’s probably hundreds of oceans and lakes near the City. I don’t even know which direction I’ve been moving in. I don’t even know if this is real._ He shook his head, not wanting to think anymore. He kept walking, every pain-filled step hopefully getting him closer to his friends. _What if this isn’t real? Why did I survive? Why am I still alive? Am I alive?_

_Please be real._


End file.
